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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23797801">The Definition of Courtship</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/deleiterious/pseuds/deleiterious'>deleiterious</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 23:15:36</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,290</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23797801</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/deleiterious/pseuds/deleiterious</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Byleth courts the King of Almyra, and Claude von Riegan does not know what to do about it.</p><p>Post-game Azure Moon route, spoilers ahead.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>My Unit | Byleth/Claude von Riegan</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>263</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The Definition of Courtship</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Byleth breathes in deeply, the crisp, cool air of northern Fódlan expanding to fill her lungs with a tang. It will be a long time, she hopes, before she will feel this kind of chill on her skin again. Behind her, a wyvern spreads its wings, stretching them in anticipation of the long journey ahead. The Blue Lions had all pegged her as a pegasus rider. After all, there were not many wyverns in the Kingdom. In fact, they rarely saw her ride one in all the years they'd known her. Yet, when she made her decision she requested a wyvern.</p><p><br/>"Before you depart, Byleth, I must ask, is there nothing we can do to keep you in Fódlan?" </p><p><br/>Byleth turns, unsurprised by Dimitri's presence. Despite the long, puckered scar running up from one of them, his eyes are bright, unclouded things and for that, she is eternally grateful despite her regrets. He will be a great king. </p><p><br/>"I have already renounced my position and provided the names of many suitable councilors in my place, Dimitri," she states with an tiny nod. "My time here has come to an end." Regency and politics: it was never in her nature. Dimitri has all the supporters he needs to succeed in uniting this hurting country. </p><p><br/>Dimitri places a hand on her shoulder. "We will be losing a great ally with you gone, Byleth." </p><p><br/>She fights down a smile on her lips, but Dimitri catches it all the same. "We will see each other again." </p><p><br/>He nods, solemn. "I wish you luck in this new endeavor of yours." He tilts his head, still clearly perplexed by the secretive nature of her pursuit. "Whatever it may be."</p><p><br/>Byleth, with practiced ease, mounts her wyvern, her downy cloak fluttering to rest behind her. "Until we meet again, Dimitri."</p><p><br/>"Until we meet again," he echoes, his hand raised in parting as Byleth takes off. She does not look back.</p><p> </p><hr/><p><br/>Byleth removes the richly designed, cobalt-blue cloak from her shoulders and folds it into the saddle bag as the air currents warm around her. It was a gift, but served her well in the frigid northern reaches of the Kingdom where she had been tirelessly working for well over the past year. She closes her eyes, grateful to feel the sun kissing her skin, the sand beneath them glittering gold. A new chapter awaits, but as she draws ever closer to her destination, uncertainty and fear curl into the pit of her stomach. </p><p><br/>Absentmindedly, she runs a hand along the golden scales of her wyvern. It steadies her, reminds her of the years she's spent fighting for this. Her wyvern's wings beat tirelessly as they soar over the mountains and desert below. </p><p><br/>They land not far from the capital, but before she can go further, she needs to ready herself. Her steed drinks hungrily from the trough at the inn with its wings tucked neatly behind them like a pet bird, properly secured in the stables. She takes the satchel from the saddlebag, slinging it over her shoulder. The armor and dark hues of her old uniform feel oppressive in this heat. Byleth brings a hand over her eyes, and a language she hasn't used in years, trips from her lips as she hails down the nearest stranger. </p><p><br/>"Where can I find local vestments?"</p><p> </p><hr/><p><br/>Sweat drips down the expanse of his back, catching and soaking into the band of his breeches. While he is still able to hold his weapon steady, he finds himself struggling for breath. </p><p><br/>"Had enough, kiddo?" Nader grins, cutting through the hot, still air with a casual swing of his spear. He rolls his huge shoulders as if barely warming up. </p><p><br/>Claude laughs breathily. "It'll take more than that to take me down. I'm not a little kid anymore." He gets back into the proper stance, eyes narrowed as he sizes up his opponent. Nader may look unfazed, but they have been sparring since dawn and with the sun at its highest now, they are both feeling it.</p><p><br/>Nader circles the training ground, spinning the spear in his dominant hand. "Is that so?" There's a challenge and laugh in his reply.</p><p><br/>Claude ignores the bait. He effortlessly closes the distance behind them, twisting at the last second, the hilt of his spear coming down. Nader does not step back, merely crouches, letting their spears clash. Claude dances around his old instructor, footwork lightning fast, faster than he'd actually let on back in the Academy. Nader brings one foot back, and Claude sees his chance. He swings down, the wooden end of his spear coming sharply down on that retreating leg. </p><p><br/>Nader flinches, opening himself to another blow. Claude twists the point of the spear. Nader narrowly dodges the blade before it lances open his cheek. </p><p><br/>"Your Highness."</p><p><br/>Grinning, Claude steps back, hands raised. Combat is clearly over if he's got messengers bothering him during training. Nader was going to lose, and that's all Claude needs to feel satisfied about how their bout went today. Claude sweeps a towel from the floor, wiping the sweat from his brow. He pushes sweat-slicked hair back. An attendant takes their weapons. He brings the towel down, wiping down his neck and shoulders before pulling on his sleeveless training tunic, which had been left abandoned on the ground hours before as the sun warmed the grounds. Claude finally looks to the messenger, who stands bowed in the corner, awaiting his attention. Nader folds his hands behind his back, ever the attentive general, looking significantly less sweaty than him, Claude realizes with a shot of envy. </p><p><br/>"What is it?" he says without preamble.</p><p><br/>"Your Majesty, an emissary from the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus requests a meeting with you." </p><p><br/>Nader's expression pinches. Claude recognizes it for the eye-roll it should be, but Nader says nothing, deferential to his king.</p><p><br/>Claude ponders the message, wondering what the Savior King and his ilk could possibly want from him and his country now. After all, he had ceded his Alliance territory to Dimitri nearly two years ago, washed his hands entirely of the Fódlan war, and returned to Almyra to lead. Since Dimitri's accession to regency, their respective committees had seen to closer ties and increased trade, with his approval. It was rare, unheard of even, for them to seek him out directly.</p><p><br/>"This sounds like a matter for my advisors. I trust they will know how to handle Faerghus' requests," Claude finally responds. </p><p><br/>He expects his messenger to bow and depart, to take his command to the appropriate parties. </p><p><br/>"Your Majesty," the messenger begins with a cough, "the emissary requested an immediate audience with you. They indicated to us that this is an extremely private matter." </p><p><br/>Claude and Nader exchange glances. </p><p><br/>This brand of stubbornness is not one Claude expects from the Fódlan gentry, least of all a representative from Dimitri of all people. Well, he thinks, at least it's interesting. </p><p><br/>"I see. Have them meet me in my private office." An attendant takes his smelly towel and it occurs to him he will need to change into something more politically appropriate.</p><p><br/>"Yes, of course, Your Majesty. Right away." The messenger bows and retreats to relay his message.</p><p><br/>"Know anything about this, Nader?" he quips.</p><p><br/>Nader shakes his head. Claude takes a deep breath, all the possibilities unfurling before him. </p><p> </p><hr/><p><br/>Claude arrives in his private office, half expecting his guest to already be there, but it sits empty. He smooths his regalia down, surreptitiously wondering if he might have an odor on him just as an attendant arrives with a fresh pot of tea. He quickly straightens out, pretending to have been handling one of his ledgers. With a strange look, the attendant sets the tea set down. </p><p><br/>"Thank you."</p><p><br/>They bow and leave the room. He can smell the exquisite scent of the highest quality silver pine needle tea wafting from the pot. On the tallest mountains of Almyra, rare silver pines grow in the freshest air in the country. It is exceedingly hazardous for tea harvesters to pick, and thus this type of tea is reserved only for the senior-most officials in his administration, including himself.</p><p><br/>"Your Majesty, Byleth Eisner from the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus to see you." It's the first time he has heard the tongue of Fódlan since he returned to his home country and it flips the switch in his head. After the announcement, the attendant bows deeply, and closes the door behind them. Not the person he was expecting at all.</p><p><br/>He doesn't expect Byleth to bow, and she doesn't. "Hello, Claude," she greets him simply. She clearly isn't surprised to see that Claude von Riegan also happens to the King of Alymra. Claude thinks it must be Dimitri's doing, that he ended up revealing his secret after all.</p><p><br/>He tries to keep the bemused look off his face as he takes her in. "To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure, Professor?" </p><p><br/>Her bright, green eyes stare at him with the same unnerving attentiveness that he remembers from his days at the Academy. She looks wholly different than she did on that battlefield in Derdriu. Truly, he's never seen her look this civilian. Her wild, unbound hair has been tamed into a neat, elegant braid. Wisps of hair frame her face, giving her pale face a graceful gentleness. There is not a single speck of armor on her person. Beneath a simple white cloak that reflects the sun, she is dressed in a form-fitting sleeveless frock in soft colors, that while surprising, suit her. It's a unique choice in attire. It's is obviously Almyran-made, but the style is rather unusual. It reminds him somewhat of the types of dresses his mother enjoys wearing, rather than the trendy, fashionable clothes heavy with jewelry that are popular in his court. As he inspects her, she looks almost nervous. </p><p><br/>"May I sit?" she asks. He nods, head tilting to the nearest chair in the room. She crosses the room, completely passing the guest chair he indicated, and seats herself on his favorite chair. Her hand runs over the supple, dark leather with an air of fondness. Her eyes roam the room, something like familiarity in them. He finds her behavior strange, as if he's looking at two different people at once. </p><p><br/>"Would you like some tea?" Claude gestures to the fine set of china on the table, but she doesn't appear to catch his question.</p><p><br/>Byleth clears her throat. "I am not here on behalf of Dimitri or the Kingdom," she pauses, "but I did not know how else to announce myself. I am here on personal business."</p><p><br/>He cracks a smile, but it does not reach his eyes. "What kind of personal business could the infamous Ashen Demon have with me?" Despite his claims as a master tactician, he feels completely outmaneuvered by her sudden appearance. </p><p><br/>She doesn't seem to enjoy the nickname; a small dip appears on her brow. Her eyes find his. "Claude, I am here to court you." Fear, hope and determination are plain on her face, despite his enduring belief she had been unreadable until now.</p><p><br/>Her words hang in the empty air between them while Claude tries to decipher her meaning. Had he heard her correctly? Was this a new figure of speech he was unaware of? </p><p><br/>"Court me, you say?"</p><p><br/>"Yes." </p><p><br/>"Court me as in..." He rubs his chin thoughtfully. "Join the Almyran court as an ambassador?"</p><p><br/>"Court you as in courtship," she supplies helpfully. "I would like to be your wife."</p><p><br/>Claude's hand drops from his face. When he was younger, he had his fair share of politely circumnavigating proposals from fellow Academy students, eager to tie themselves to his Alliance heritage. He never expects this sort of proposal from an old professor. He wonders with irritation if it's because of his new title as the crown that Byleth of all people would go this low. </p><p><br/>"Did Dimitri put you up to this? This must be a joke," he jests, half-laughing to mask his annoyance at the mere idea of taking a wife who knows nothing about him, who did not even look at him until he was king.</p><p><br/>"You're upset," she says softly, eyes starting to smart. "I assure you; I am serious, Claude."</p><p><br/>He releases a long sigh, folding himself into the chair opposite hers. Why is she sitting in his favorite chair, he thinks with some petulance.</p><p><br/>"Alright, Professor, what are you really after? What's this about courting me?" His voice catches embarrassingly on the last couple of words. While his tone remains lighthearted, humored, his eyes become shrewd as he waits to dissect truth and lies.</p><p><br/>Byleth shakes her head, disappointed by his response. "You used to call me 'Teach.'" </p><p><br/>Claude does not detect a lie, but he has never called her that in his life. She's always been the professor to him. Resting his chin upon his hand, he inquires, "Are you the real Byleth?"</p><p><br/>Byleth's ire becomes plain as day. "What a foolish question. Who else would I be, Claude?" </p><p><br/>Claude shrugs, thinking back to Monica and Tomas, hiding their gruesome schemes in plain sight. </p><p><br/>"I could wield Sword of the Creator and show you, but your guards would not allow weapons into the palace," she retorts, folding her arms across her chest, drawing his attention to the silver ring dangling off a simple metal chain around her neck. </p><p><br/>Claude doesn't genuinely believe this Byleth is an imposter, but their conversation is one he would have never prepared for in his wildest imaginings.</p><p><br/>She looks away suddenly, seemingly searching for answers to his questions. "Do you remember the day we met?" </p><p><br/>"Of course, how could I not?" He winks at her. "Still think you should have picked my house. Would have been more fun." </p><p><br/>"I did," she says quietly. </p><p><br/>"No," he begins, before she abruptly interrupts him.</p><p><br/>"I picked you first," Byleth tells him with some force. "But when I did, Dimitri died. So, I had to go back, and pick him. During the battle at Gronder Field, Dimitri always died. No matter how many times I turned back the clock, Edelgard would cut him down right in front of us. I thought that it would be impossible to save him, but years later, after the war, there was something you said that changed my mind."</p><p> </p><hr/><p>
  <br/>
  <em>'Maybe if you'd chosen his house, things would be different,' Claude muses aloud, as she rests against his chest, reading one of their favorite Almyran poems.</em>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <em>'What...did you say?'</em>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <em>'Hypotheticals,' he replies, flipping the page. He smiles into her messy braid, but it quickly disappears when she jolts straight up in bed. She looks at him, her eyes filled with fright and hope. 'Byleth, what's wrong?' He cups a hand to her cheek, green eyes lanced with worry.</em>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <em>'I never thought to go back that far,' she murmurs, clutching his arms.</em>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p><br/>Byleth feels like she is suffocating. She's been holding this back from him, from everyone, for nearly seven years. It's been seven long years since she's been in his arms, seen his true smile, and every day of it was absolute misery.</p><p><br/>As she speaks, he listens to her every word, turning them over in that quick mind of his. Completely absorbed like this, he reminds her of the way they used to be before she saved Dimitri.</p><p><br/>"You can turn back time?" he repeats, more to himself than her. </p><p><br/>She never once lost anyone on the battlefield. It felt impossible. She never lost. <em>Never.</em> Not even when the odds were stacked against her on Gronder Field, and at Derdriu. He briefly toyed with the idea that she could read minds, but it didn't make sense. But if she could turn back time, of course, that would solve every puzzle that had plagued him.</p><p><br/>Byleth leans forward in her seat, waiting and watching.</p><p><br/>"Are you still able to? Can you show me?" Fascination at this discovery gleams fever-bright in his eyes.</p><p><br/>Byleth closes her eyes, breathing deeply to center herself. This wasn't meant to be easy, she reminds herself. The one she remembers is in there, but there's no magic in the world that will bring those memories to this timeline. She looks at Claude, a blank slate, and tries to beat back her despondence.</p><p><br/>"You wouldn't remember," she says woodenly. "You never do."</p><p><br/>Claude shuffles through all his memories with her. There aren't many. He used to be almost certain she was avoiding him in the Academy. He chalked it up to his outsider status, his half-Almyran origins. A memory that he had previously labeled as unimportant flashes to the surface.</p><p> </p><hr/><p>
  <br/>
  <em>'Claude!' Byleth screams, so loud, desperate and ferocious that it pierces through the frenzy of the battle at Derdriu. He catches it in the corner of his eye a moment too late. A tomahawk axe cleaves through the air, spinning straight for him -- a volley of arrows chasing it to their mutual target. He jerks his wvyern's harness sharply to the side, but in the back of his mind, he knows it's too late. </em>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <em>Before he can blink, Byleth appears below him, her sword glowing an incandescent orange, a signal of it at its full power. He can feel the heat radiating off it, the waves distorting the view around her. She whips it back, and with inhuman accuracy, strikes down the axe mid-air. In a follow-up stroke, the chains of her sword extend, and she blocks every last arrow. They rain down harmlessly before her. </em>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <em>From his frozen position in their air, he sees her shoulders shake, chest heaving with effort. Before he can thank her, she turns and smiles at him, relief on every corner of her face. Byleth never smiles, but she just did. At him.</em>
</p><p> </p><hr/><p><br/>"I...you did save me, at Derdriu. That attack, that was you using that power, wasn't it?"</p><p><br/>She releases the breath she's been holding. "Do you believe me?"</p><p><br/>"I believe," he starts, with a neutral expression on his face, "that you saved my life and Dimitri's life with that power of yours. That, I do believe."</p><p><br/>"But you don't believe the rest." </p><p><br/>"I have a hard time believing that you and I..." He shrugs, unable to help himself. "Well, you know. Why now? Why not tell me at Derdriu?" He feels like a tactless idiot, breaking someone's heart like this, breaking it without even meaning to.</p><p><br/>Byleth bites her lip. "I couldn't tell you. If I told you, I would have lost the resolve to make it this far. I needed to see Dimitri through the war, and stabilize his reign on the throne before I could find my way back here. Anything less and he would have been dead, and this would have all been for nothing." She spits the words out bitterly, like she's eaten something rotten.</p><p><br/>They sit in silence for a beat. Claude doesn't know how to respond.</p><p><br/>"You used to really like braiding my hair this way," she says, so quietly he's not sure if he's meant to hear it. He thinks with a flash of heat that, indeed, he would have really enjoyed braiding her soft, beautiful hair. "And Tiana..." Her hand plucks at the dress, but she doesn't seem to have the heart to finish the thought.</p><p><br/>"My mother? <em>That</em> Tiana?" </p><p><br/>"Yes, your mother, Khalid." A small bit of color appears on her cheeks.  "Claude, I mean."</p><p><br/>"Did you just--"</p><p><br/>"I used to be your wife," Byleth says warmly but sadly. "I know all sorts of things about you."</p><p><br/>Her cheeks take on a bit more pink, and before he can get a word in edge-wise, she gestures to his chest. "Tiana's ring, for example. The band is made of Fódlan silver ore and its gem is pure green Tsavorite from the westernmost mountain range in Almyra." His hand drifts to his chest, where the ring lays in the breast pocket ever since the day his mother gave it to him, on the day of his coronation.</p><p><br/>"You have a habit of placing trinkets there for safekeeping." She idly thumbs the ring of her necklace. </p><p><br/>"Yes," he agrees with a guarded look. "You are correct about my mother's ring, but there are plenty of people in Almyra familiar with the story behind this ring. She's famous for marrying my father, after all."</p><p><br/>"I see that you're not convinced. What else shall I tell you?" Her mouth tightens into a bizarre expression. Claude realizes a beat too late that she's pouting. It's horrifyingly endearing on a face like hers.</p><p><br/>She shoots up from her seat, and strides over to his bookshelf with purpose. </p><p><br/>He blurts an Alymran curse, jolting out of his chair and rapidly tries to intercept her path. "Those are--"</p><p><br/>She side-steps him with ease and reaches into the bookcase for a thin, unobtrusive leather notebook sitting next to half a dozen others just like it. He makes a grab for it, but her hands are ironclad around the little notebook. She looks triumphant at the sudden burst of unbidden color on his cheeks. Without looking away from him, she opens the notebook to a specific page.</p><p><br/>"You wrote this poem when you were sixteen, about riding a wvyern into the stars and finding a beautiful maiden on the moon." She offers the notebook up to him, but he's too embarrassed to take it. He blinks at it like a deer ambushed. "You read it to me many times."</p><p><br/>Claude feels unsteady, warm. His perfectly tailored clothes feel heavy, unwieldy, and boxy. </p><p><br/>Byleth's eyes flutter closed, and recites the first few lines without looking, in perfect Almyran. </p><p><br/>He groans, throwing a hand across his face. It's completely unbecoming of a king, but he's never had his poetry read aloud before. No one on earth is supposed to take him for a raging romantic. Frankly, few people on earth even knew about his poetry. His father -- blast him -- was the one who turned him onto poetry. It was what his father did to woo his mother when they first met. Claude finds himself starting to believe her, that he loved her, married her, shared all these things with her. But it's like falling off a cliff and he is clinging desperately to the edge, too frightened of what waits below.</p><p><br/>"Claude, I don't know what else to do," Byleth whispers. Her lips quiver, and she seems close to defeat. As she looks down, her braid falls over her shoulder. Claude reaches up to touch it. When it's unbound, it must make the most gorgeous waves. He drops his hand.</p><p><br/>"Byleth, I'm sorry this must be difficult for you." He hates how practiced and diplomatic the words sound. </p><p><br/>"I had to try." Her voice breaks, though she tries to hide it. </p><p><br/>"Does that mean you're giving up?" he asks, feeling rather disappointed himself.</p><p><br/>Her eyes flash. "I don't give up, but I won't force you to have me if you don't want me." </p><p><br/>Byleth gently glides the notebook back into the bookcase. She smiles but it quickly vanishes as her fingertips leave the book. She straightens to her full height, and gently places a hand on his lapel, as if she's done it hundreds of times before. Byleth leans forward on her toes, and places a kiss on his cheek. Claude freezes. </p><p><br/>"Goodbye, my beloved Khalid."</p><p><br/>Byleth doesn't look back as she retreats to the door. </p><p><br/>Him and the cliff. </p><p><br/>"Wait!"</p><p><br/>Claude catches her wrist, can feel her pulse beneath his fingers fluttering rapidly. She doesn't look at him, she can't, not while fighting these hot, horrible tears.</p><p><br/>"Byleth," he says breathlessly, "I...I don't remember. I don't expect to, but, your request, I accept."</p><p><br/>She doesn't react, but she doesn't pull away either so he goes to her, bending down to peer at her face. He feels frustrated, making her cry like this. </p><p><br/>"Say what you mean, Khalid," she replies tersely, teeth clenched in an effort to stem the flow from her eyes.</p><p><br/>"I thought you wanted to court me; isn't that what you came for?" Claude feels the back of his neck grow hot, and it's not from his time in the sun earlier. "I accept. I can't make any promises to you, but...look, I don't want you to go. Will you humor me, Teach?" </p><p><br/>Byleth suddenly throws her arms around him, nearly toppling him over. He instinctively holds tight, feeling strangely giddy at the way her small form presses so closely to him. She smells like the wind, the trees, like home. It's intoxicating.</p><p><br/>"May I kiss you?" she whispers into his neck, her breath sailing over his pulse point. In the pit of his stomach, it feels like he's falling, and it scares him but exhilarates him at the same time.</p><p><br/>"When did you become so forward?" he jokes, one of his hands moving into her hair.</p><p><br/>Byleth leans back, just enough to show him the desire in her eyes. It makes him feel almost dizzy to see her look at him this way. He'd have to be a complete fool to say no to a woman like this. "May I kiss you?" she repeats, her eyes tracing the line of his jaw, down to his lips. </p><p><br/>"Yes," he answers with a ridiculous stutter. </p><p><br/>She kisses him, harder than he expected; it's bruising even, but wonderful. One hand fists into her hair, the other slides down to her waist. When they break for air, she smiles at him, radiantly. "You smell very good."</p><p><br/>"So do you." </p><p><br/>"Let me guess, you were sparring earlier?"</p><p><br/>"For<em> hours</em>," he preens.</p><p><br/>She pulls him into another kiss.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This is my first work in years, but I just had to add to this wonderful community. I've spent weeks just combing the community for all the Claudeleth fanfic I could. If there are any Claudeleth servers out there, please, please let me know. I would love to join. </p><p>Have some other ideas for FE that I will be posting up in the near future. Stay tuned!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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